What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo

Father Atanasio could not explain satisfactorily to his own mind why Don Cesare had been able to work himself into such a violent rage against the poor Saint Pancras, and with every one whom he came across on the way home, and with every one whom he encountered during the day on the street, or in the wine-shop, he began the subject over again.

"I can understand very well," said the father, to his devoutly-attentive listeners -- "I understand perfectly -- that you, Don Ciccio, and you, Don Pasquale, and you, Don Geronimo, and many others, are angry in your hearts with our patron saint. You need rain, you need it as mankind needs air, and fishes water. That is to say, your fields need it, your lemon trees, figs, pomegranates, olives, and almond plantations. You are landed people, you cultivate your acres, and wet them with the sweat of your brows. But the sweat of your brows, ha-ha-ha! That is only a dewdrop or two, and won't answer instead of rain. " Here the father laughed, and all the others laughed at their priest's joke.